


and now i sleep, soon to wake

by whalersandsailors



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Crozier POV, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Naval captains can officiate weddings y'all, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reference to past bodily mutilation, Secret Relationship, Secret Wedding, Set roughly in winter 1848, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Wedding tropes, terror bingo 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: One winter evening, as he and the men convalesce in the safety of Fort Resolution, Crozier makes his rounds checking on each of his men, one of whom has some fateful news as well as a very surprising request.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 20
Kudos: 105
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	and now i sleep, soon to wake

**Author's Note:**

> written for The Terror Bingo 2019 for prompt _**wedding night**_

Snow blankets the settlement, softening the edges of the crude buildings and dampening all noise until the silence feels absolute. It is early evening yet, but the day is cast in perpetual twilight. For the first time in months, the sight of the black sky dotted with stars puts Crozier at ease.

Stepping through the loose snow is arduous, but he hurries best he can to the neighboring outbuildings. His bare cheeks smart from the chill, and with every exhale, he feels his breath freeze into crystals on the inside of his scarf. He huffs and rubs his hands together, numb even through the sealskin mittens.

The residents of Fort Resolution have been kind enough to offer the storage shed, extra clothing, food, and a stove to keep the surviving men comfortable. Crozier makes his rounds daily to check on each man and his progress toward overcoming their past trepidations.

There are precious few of them left, and Crozier is reluctant to admit his fear at losing any more of them.

He stamps his feet on the planks by the door, opening it and dashing inside. The warm air hits like the dry heat of a furnace. He grimaces as he tries to quell the sudden nausea that the sensation causes.

When he opens them, he sees several of the men huddled around the stove. Mr. Weekes tends to the pot where he stirs a motley of stew ingredients; bland taste but far heartier than the tins and cracked biscuits they ate farther north.

“Captain,” says Weekes, dipping his head.

The greeting is echoed by Collins and Hartnell where they give a perfunctory salute before returning to peeling potatoes for their meal.

Crozier nods in return, ignoring how his old title rankles. He routinely encourages the men to abandon such niceties. He is no more their captain than the ships were their home. They left such sentiments behind to rot on the ice. While he continues to care for them much like a surrogate father, he has made it clear that they are not bound to him. It is during this respite in the trader’s settlement, during the quiet and somnolent winter, that he wants the men to decide what they wish to do.

Some may return to England, find their families. Some may return to sea, either with the Navy or merchant ships. There is talk among the men of staying in Nunavut, perhaps going south to America, starting new lives and careers in wild, unexplored terrain.

For himself, Crozier knows deep down that as much as he yearns for old friends — what he would _give_ to see James and his wife again — the thought of England and the Admiralty and the receptions and the obligations and the failures would all lead to more and more misery.

He has considered staying, if the people of Fort Resolution and its inhabitants will accept him, though Crozier has not uttered a word of this plan to any of the other men.

He moves through the men, patting shoulders, asking after sore throats and pained limbs, reminding some to finish that letter to his mother or sweetheart, mirroring sentiments of holiday cheer despite the less than wonderful circumstances.

Death lies mangled behind them, but all present have survived thus far. If that were not a blessing enough for the new year, Crozier would struggle to find cheer in anything.

Blanky is toward the back of the room, propped against the wall where he is engaged in conversation with Sergeant Tozer. They are backlit by a lantern, their heads leaned close. Tozer is holding his chin in his hand, and despite the sardonic slant of Blanky’s mouth, he reaches forward to place a sympathetic hand on Tozer’s arm.

As Crozier nears them, Blanky sees him first, removing his hand so that he can push himself upright. More of his leg was amputated when they arrived at the settlement, but it was better for him to undergo a second operation than to succumb to infection. Blanky accepted his lot with no loss of humor, something with which Crozier has struggled.

He feels an itch where his hand used to be, but he shakes the sensation from his arm as subtly as he can.

A similar tremor goes down Tozer’s arm where he shares the same deformity as Crozier. He masks it well by folding his arm behind himself as he nods to Crozier and quickly walks away, not sparing an extra glance or comment.

It is strange, Crozier thinks, the things that connect men in unexpected circumstances.

Some of the crew were less accepting of Tozer’s presence when he and Crozier stumbled back into the camp, miles from the slaughter of the creature and the mutineers, both of them haggard and lacking their left hands.

For Crozier, it was penance enough that Tozer walked the pilgrimage back to camp with him, his pride wounded worse than his arm, his most painful loss being the inability to wield a rifle again.

Blanky watches Tozer go, as he greets Crozier.

“Evening,” he says. “How are the men holding up?”

The question is almost rhetorical, but the familiarity of it soothes Crozier as he leans on the wall beside Blanky.

“As well as they can. Seaman Berry died earlier today. An infection in his stomach, the doctor said. The scurvy didn’t help.” He looks toward the center of the room where Weekes accepts Tozer’s presence with a small smile. “James is finally up and about. Le Vesconte told me he is able to keep solid food down.”

Blanky nods. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“You know damn well what I mean.” Blanky’s voice is harsh, but his eyes are mirthful when he looks at Crozier. “The last thing any of us need is you running yourself ragged.”

Crozier stares at the ground. The missing hand itches again. He thinks of the ships, wondering if either of them is still upright or if the ice finally crushed them to splinters. He thinks of Mr. Lane and his skeleton crew on _Terror_ , whether any of them are still alive. He thinks of England, of Lady Franklin, Sophia, the Admiralty.

“I will stay with the men as long as I am able,” Crozier finally says. “Come spring, I intend to go North again, if the traders will let me join them.”

If Blanky is shocked by his words, his face doesn’t show it. His lips flatten into a straight line, and he nods slowly.

“Have you told anyone else, but me?”

“No.”

Blanky huffs, the noise awfully close to a chuckle. “Francis, I won’t stop you, even if I think it’s foolish.”

“Some of the men will likely stay as well,” Crozier reasons.

“Yes, I know, but if you intend to disappear into the Arctic again, the least you can do is let the ones who matter know.” Blanky thumps the side of Crozier’s arm with his shoulder. “Speaking of which, I know Jopson was looking for you earlier. Said he had something important to ask you.”

Crozier frowns, sudden concern flooding him. Should Jopson return to England, his promotion will not stand with the Admiralty, if the captain who gave him the promotion were not present. He sighs, rubbing at his chin.

“Yes, I know. I need to speak with him, as well.”

“He’s upstairs, last I saw.”

Upstairs is a flimsy word to describe the room above them. A narrow staircase winds around a beam in the back, leading to the loft where several of the men have lain bedrolls where they huddle close beside each other for warmth every night.

Crozier thanks Blanky and carefully makes his way up the steps, dipping his head before he collides with a beam in the ceiling.

The loft appears empty at first. It is completely dark, save the faint glow through the floorboards from the lamps downstairs, and once Crozier’s eyes adjust, he can make out two men sitting close together on the floor, their arms and hands entwined.

“Jopson?”

The two men jerk, one of them starting to pull away.

“It’s all right, Edward,” he hears Jopson say as he urges Little back to him. “It’s all right if he knows.”

Crozier moves closer, and despite the darkness of the room, he can make out the frown on Little’s face and the exhaustion on Jopson’s. Much like the other remainders of the expedition, they look like strange mimics of themselves. Both have shorn their hair close to their skulls, and while Jopson also shaved the hair from his cheeks, a dark beard obscures Little’s.

Jopson smiles at Crozier but makes no attempt to move. Between the cramped space and the vestiges of scurvy still coursing through him, Crozier takes no offense at Jopson staying seated, curled into Little’s side. As Little stays hunched and tense like a cornered animal, Jopson places his free hand over the back of Little’s, the familiarity of the gesture enough to calm him. 

“Sir.” Little nods, his eyes firmly on the ground.

“Edward,” Crozier returns, biting back a groan as he sits on his haunches before them. “Are you well, Jopson? Mr. Blanky said you were looking for me.”

“Oh, yes, I feel the best I have in weeks,” Jopson says, his smile widening only a fraction, his lips masking the gaps created by the loss of several teeth.

“He was able to walk around the settlement for half an hour today before we stopped,” Little says, the warmth and affection evident in his voice.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” Crozier says.

Jopson sobers, something akin to worry entering his face. He pats Little’s hand.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something for a while now,” he says, taking a deep breath in and out before he lifts his eyes to Crozier’s face. “Edward and I want to stay. Not _here_ necessarily, but we have no intention of returning to England.”

Despite the similarity to his own plans, Crozier recoils. “Jopson, are you certain? What of your families?”

Jopson sniffs, his smile turning painful. “I’ve not much of a family to return to. Edward is giving up far more than I am.”

Little speaks, his voice so quiet that Crozier nearly misses the words. “I would lose much, much more if we went back.”

Understanding washes over Crozier in wave, though it hardly comes as a surprise. Little is leaning into Jopson, his brow furrowed, clinging tightly as though fearful that Jopson might disappear if he were to let go.

In a rush, Crozier wonders if he overlooked signs of their intimacy, of shared glances and hidden touches.

“We’ll stay so long as you and the others need us,” Jopson explains. “When the time comes, we’ll go farther south, where we can stay together. We didn’t want this to come as a surprise.”

Crozier wonders when this development took place between Little and Jopson, but for the sake of their privacy, he doubts it would be appropriate for him to ask. A terribly curious side of him speculates if Jopson and Little had a liaison on the ship, or if their relationship grew on land. The longer he stays silent, the more Jopson’s smile slips away and the tighter Little clutches his hand.

Clearing his throat, Crozier says, “You are free to do as you see fit. Both of you.”

Both men sag with relief.

Not one prone to exaggeration, Crozier raps his knuckles against his thigh. “I mean it when I say that both of you were indispensable to this expedition, and while it pains me to see you leave, I am comforted to know that you will have one another.” He looks up to Jopson staring intently at him and Little discreetly wiping his face. “I would rather be your friend than your captain, in this matter. You do not need my permission, but I do give you my blessing.”

“Thank you, sir,” Little says, raising his wet eyes long enough to look at Crozier.

Jopson laughs, the noise watery but sweet. His laughter grows, almost hysterically. The joy bubbling from him soon infects Little who starts smiling and shaking his head, and Crozier feels a great weight slide off his shoulders as he looks at them, grinning and bumping foreheads.

Jopson untangles himself long enough to scoot closer to Crozier. He clasps Crozier’s hand between his and brings it to his chest.

Overtaken by a sudden shyness, he stares at their joined hands as he quietly asks, “If it is not too much trouble, sir, I would ask one more thing of you, as my captain.”

“Anything for you, Thomas.”

His voice hitches, a laugh mixing with a sob, as he nods and squeezes Crozier’s hand. “Would you marry us, sir? Edward and I?”

Crozier glances from Jopson to Little, whose face has turned a dusky shade, noticeable even in the dim light.

“Is that what you want?”

“More than anything, sir.”

Crozier pulls his hand free and pushes off his knee to stand. “Well, I see no point in waiting, unless you’d rather do this with your bellies full?”

Jopson and Little gape at him until the meaning of his words hit them. Little fetches their coats and hats from beside their bedrolls. Jopson tries to swat his hands away so that he may dress himself, but the effort is halfhearted at best. It warms Crozier’s heart to see the two being sweet with each other. He looks away for a second when Little tugs the cap over Jopson’s short hair, pausing long enough to brush his fingers down Jopson’s cheeks and along his jaw.

“Now, if you two don’t hurry up,” Crozier says, barely raising his voice, his mock authority gruff and jovial, “we won’t have time enough before they miss us for supper.”

Jopson sways once he’s on his feet. Little leaps to his side, wrapping his arm tight around his waist to keep him balanced. Crozier hears Little fussing as he helps Jopson down the stairs. He saves them the embarrassment of moving past the other men by exiting through the rarely used back door. The cold hits him with a slap, and he hisses at the abrupt change in temperature. Little and Jopson shuffle behind him, stomping their feet enough to keep blood flowing to their limbs.

The three of them stay close to the building, the muffled hum of conversation and meal preparation following them outside.

The sky glows with a spread of stars and blue aurora, and Crozier thinks it appropriate that the heavens will witness this private joining.

“We’ll keep this brief,” Crozier says, his voice muted by the wool of his scarf. “It’s far too cold for any of us to stand here long.”

Little nods, a shiver traveling across his shoulders. Jopson leans against him.

“I have been to few weddings,” Crozier continues, as he reaches forward and urges the two men to link arms, their hands buried deep into mittens. “Thus, I don’t know entirely what to say. But given that we have experienced several firsts on this expedition, I think it best for us to forgo tradition.”

He pauses, his eyes glittering as they move over Little and Jopson.

“Commander Little, I have known you for only a short few years, but I have trusted you with my life and the wellbeing of my crew. You are an honest and upstanding man, and it is a great relief to know that Jopson will have you at his side. Lieutenant Jopson, you have been constant in my life. You are steadfast and strong, for me, for the crew, for this expedition. You are kind, even when no one else is. You are much more to me than simply a steward or officer, and I will miss your companionship deeply. I cannot think of two men more deserving of happiness and success, or of two men more deserving of each other.” He reaches his hand and sets it upon the crook of their arms, where they are linked. “I wish the both of you a long life, where you may share your love, your joys, your sorrows. Thomas, do you accept this man as your own, to have and to cherish?”

Jopson’s eyes shine, laden with tears, as he nods and leans his face closer to Little. “Yes.”

“And Edward, do you accept Thomas as your own, to have and to cherish?”

After a quavering inhale and exhale, Little softly says, “Always, yes.”

“Then that is settled,” Crozier proclaims, sensible enough to keep his voice low, grinning even if they cannot see it behind his scarf. “As your captain, I pronounce both of you wed. I wouldn’t recommend kissing, however. It’s much too cold for that.”

A laugh bursts from Jopson, and he throws his arms around Little with such force that the two of them nearly fall into the snow. Little returns the embrace with as much strength, burying his face into Jopson’s shoulder.

“Easy, lads,” Crozier says, laughing with them.

Jopson pulls back long enough to cup both sides of Little’s face, and he pulls him close enough that he can press the sides of their noses together, both men’s eyes sliding shut, Little’s hands reaching to cover Jopson’s. The sight is oddly more intimate than a kiss, and much like he had done in the loft, Crozier turns away, his gaze traveling over the dark, snow-covered huts of the settlement.

They part when the warehouse’s door opens, keeping their arms loosely wrapped around each other. Hartnell stands in the doorway. He does not step outside but raises his hand instead.

“Supper is ready, sirs,” he calls.

“Thank you, Hartnell,” Crozier says, stepping around Little and Jopson. “We’ll be there shortly.”

With shivers interrupting their embrace, Little and Jopson finally release each other to head back. Once they are safe inside the relative warmth of the warehouse, Crozier lays his hand on Jopson’s sleeve to make him wait.

Little looks back at them curiously, his gaze heavy, pausing on Jopson for several seconds. Something must transpire in their shared gaze, because he nods, his mouth twisting and his eyes sliding away as he leaves them.

“In light of all our honesty,” says Crozier, “I need to tell you that I also do not plan to return to England.”

Jopson accepts the statement with grace. “What will you do?”

“I haven’t thought too far ahead, but if any of the Netsilik tribes or traders will tolerate my presence, I’m considering going back North. Seeing if either ship got out of the ice.”

Jopson looks thoughtful, his brow knitted. “If it’s England and the Admiralty that you wish to avoid, sir, you can always join me and Edward. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“No, I don’t want to burden you.” When Crozier sees Jopson about to continue arguing, he smirks and drops his voice. “I don’t think your husband would be keen on my interrupting your honeymoon.”

A blush erupts across Jopson’s cheeks, but he manages to respond with an equally cheeky smile. “Oh, he may not, sir, but Edward listens as much to me as he does to his captain. Perhaps more.”

“Is that so?” Crozier shakes his head, marveling at the turn of events. “But we have all winter. We hardly need come to a decision tonight.”

They join the others, where the thirty-odd men are crowded around the stove, the floor, scattered chairs, and on crates. Each balances a pewter plate in his lap, spearing large chunks of potato and vegetables, cooked in broth. Crozier accepts his place by Blanky, and Jopson detaches himself to sit beside Little.

Blanky chews his food slowly, squinting at Crozier from the corner of his eye. Crozier resolutely keeps his eyes on his plate, though when he looks up — pointedly away from Blanky — his eyes are drawn to where Little rests his hand on Jopson’s thigh.

“Did you and Jopson talk?” Blanky asks, his voice deliberately uninterested.

“We did.”

“And he told you what he needed to?”

Crozier turns to finally look at Blanky, but the man has a schooled, vacant expression.

“He did.”

Blanky’s eyes dart to Little and Jopson before his attention is fully on supper once more.

“Good. At least something worthwhile has come out of all this.”

Crozier can’t stop the unbelieving scoff that comes from him. He sits back against the wall, balancing the plate on his knees, his eyes gazing over his men, as inaccurate as calling them _his_ may be. He listens less to the conversations and more to the notes of each man’s voice. He watches the laugh lines deepen on their faces when they smile. He sees who sits by whom and who spends more time focused on his companions than his meal. That each man sitting in this room is alive seems almost an impossibility, and a maddening wave of grief nearly overwhelms him.

Winter rages outside, but no longer are they trapped by ice. Their personal sorrows are buried under the snow, like wildflower seeds, dormant and impatient for their spring, ready to burst from the ground, come back to life after a thousand minutes’ sleep.


End file.
